


Tentities

by UhOhItsJo (Iliketoreadalot)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: NSFW, Other, Tentacles, Uh look out, Well - Freeform, also everything is really subby sorry I’m projecting, here goes babes, if your triggers include aspects of the entities, im sorry they’re probably gonna be in here to some capacity, its literally just the entities as tentacles, on the other hand if your kinks are entity-relevant, semiconsentacles, theyll be here too, this is what happens when the discord pushes me, thought experiment gone horny, u do not get to top an eldritch fear entity is so sorry, youre having a lot of fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iliketoreadalot/pseuds/UhOhItsJo
Summary: Hi! Tentacle entities, right what it says on the tin. An exploration of what each entity would be like if life was a porno I guess. You’re welcome ash love u. Reader is left gender neutral, second person, with references to ‘filling’ made. Also nobody would come out of this with their mind intact so neither does poor You. Strap in and have fun!
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Tentities

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is an ongoing project, in which imma flesh out these ideas and they’re gonna get longer and more detailed with time. I promise this isn’t it.

Vast-  
With the Vast it’s always a toss up. Sometimes the tentacles will be as thick around as your torso at their widest, dwarfing you in their grip and manipulating you however they please. Sometimes they’ll be innumerable, stretching you full and deep, and you lose track of how many work their way into you. Sometimes it’ll be both, held firm by huge ones while so, so many squirm between the cracks and move over every last inch of you. You’re fairly certain your body isn’t made to be almost-crushed and then stuffed to bursting with all of this, but given the entity you’re dealing with, it can’t come as any surprise.  
Lonely-  
They’re gentle, barely perceptible even if you were paying attention. If you focused, really looked, you might have seen them, tiny and delicate but twining around you, weaving around each other in preparation. As it is, you almost don’t notice them until they’re suddenly tightened together, the resulting bands and bindings embracing and holding and massaging and coaxing and filling and softening you. You give a moment of meager resistance, but then it’s too late and you can’t muster the will to try to stop them. You sink back and let them have every part of you, and they take it all.  
Web-  
What tentacles? Are you sure those are even tentacles, and not your own toys? Didn’t you put them there? Oh, you’re not sure if you’re playing with yourself or they are, how cute. They feel so good but something about how they move, now and again completely without your prompting, keeps a worried thought whispering in the back of your head, even as they bring you to completion over and over. No matter how many times they do exactly as you want, you’re never sure if you were even in charge of wanting in the first place.  
Buried-  
They’re everywhere. You can’t move, can’t scream, you don’t even think you can breathe. They’re all around you and they fill every part of you. They writhe and pound until they’re the only thing holding you together, until you don’t know down from up from sideways, until you can’t conceive of there being anywhere they aren’t. For a moment you think you can almost see the light of day but do you want to? Why would you ever think of escaping this all-encompassing pleasure? You wouldn’t. One wraps around your head right over your eyes and you slip under again.  
Slaughter-  
They’re hard and rough, almost spiked, and when they push against you too hard they leave long scratch marks. They appear out of nowhere, unpredictable as they are insatiable. They fuck you like they’re using you, like giving you pain is the only thing that gets them off. You can scream your throat dry but they won’t stop until you’re well and deeply marked. You won’t be able to walk for a while, but they do like it better that way. No escaping whenever they might decide to come for you.  
Flesh-  
Congratulations, they’re your tentacles. They still swarm over you, still encircle and fill you, but there’s a sort of feedback loop, an echo, of the pleasure they feel feeding into yours, and on and on. It’s dizzying, to have complete control and yet feel helpless to a want, a need so strong that you’re suddenly not sure is coming from your body at all. If it wasn’t yours before, you’re certainly going to have to deal with it now. The only question is when will it-you be satisfied? The recursive loop continues for hours, and you’re staring to think the question is not when, but if. If these tentacles have decided that this is all they want out of you, would you even be able to protest? They’re a part of you. Have you decided this is all you want? All you’re ever going to be? After a few more hours even those thoughts are gone. Whether it’s them or you hardly makes a difference when you both want the same thing, anyway.  
Stranger-  
This was supposed to be a normal hookup but something has started to feel a tad off. You’re enjoying yourself still, certainly, but something in how they’re rubbing you has changed. Has it, or are you just noticing? Hang on, the sensation is getting weirder now, and oh. Oh! OH JESUS. Well you can’t say you really mind, but a warning would have been appreciated. There’s not a person left to ask about it anyways, and it feels fantastic, if utterly and completely inhuman. They're articulated and not quite smooth, but even if you could talk anymore you wouldn’t complain.  
Corruption-  
They’re slick and small and everywhere, sliding and writhing and pressing. You’re pretty sure some have detached and are just squirming around and inside you now and gods that probably shouldn’t feel this great but you can’t help it they’re wriggling and it’s so perfect you can’t imagine wanting anything else. Then a much larger one emerges and as it pushes into you you feel so many thick lumps moving through it and inside you to be released, feel the rush of fluid after each and every precious delivery, and know you were wrong before, that this is what you truly want, to be pumped full and repurposed to love, to be cherished and valued and worshipped like this. This is your completion.  
Eye-  
Fuck you Elias Bouchard. There’s an eye at the tip of each and every tentacle and you poke out every single one to spite him.  
Eye alternate-  
They only show up when you’re alone and unoccupied, like they know somehow that you won’t be taking calls or heading out to the store in the next hour. They always seem aware of exactly how and where to touch, pulling you closer and closer to your edge and keeping you there perfectly for so, so long. They caress and hold you like something precious, and despite how strange it is you can never bring yourself to reject them. So they keep coming, and you keep cumming, and with all that going on can you really be blamed for having missed the one that opened your curtain the tiniest bit for your unseen watcher?  
End-  
They’re so cold. When they wrap around you they feel like they’re taking something away, draining your energy somehow as you’re left helpless in their very appreciative grip. It’s not as if you receive nothing in return, they make very sure to finish you many, many times as you lay limp and whining. By the end you can’t even make sounds anymore, almost but not quite coherent enough to be worried, to think about what it means that you have to think carefully about breathing, and pumping your heart. It’s completely overwhelming and totally exhausting, but you’ve learned to sit back and enjoy the ride. They always get what they want, after all, and if they feel like sweetening the deal, you won’t stop them.  
Hunt-  
These come out of nowhere to reach and grab and pin. They’ll pursue you around a room, quick and harsh and irresistibly strong. When they catch you, you’ll be thrown down and perfectly restrained in an instant, try as you may to fight back. What you know and they seem to perceive is that you love the struggle as much as they do. Sometimes they’ll let you slip an arm out from under them, prolonging your capture and letting them force you into submission again and again, in so many different ways. They always claim you just when you think you’ll never get past this foreplay. They hold tight and move quickly and mercilessly, pounding in so deeply you wonder if they’ll move all the way through you. It seems to be a game of theirs to pull as many orgasms out of you as they can before they finish on you and inside you. You’re just glad they’re even capable of tiring themselves out.  
Dark-  
You’ll never know how many there are, or where they’ll touch you next. It starts slow, plenty of time for the anticipation to build, and you wish they’d move a little bit faster. But they’re patient, and they intend to make you patient as well. You flinch and jolt as each comes into contact with you, some fast and delicate, some slow and firm. They slide all over, from every direction, and you just can’t know what to anticipate next. It’s a teasing torture, but when they finally truly strike they are merciless and exacting and there are more than you could have ever guessed. They pull you over the edge again and again, until, at last, your mind slips into the darkness. You think they keep going after that, and every now and then when your consciousness bubbles back to the surface, they’re still fucking into you. You’re utterly helpless to it’s ever-present hold, and there will be no escape.  
Desolation-  
They sting. They’re whip-thin, and lashing, leaving red marks wherever they land. Bundles of them pull at and fuck into you viciously, mercilessly. They edge you over and over, but each time you get close they slow. You lose it again and again. It hurts so much, so goddamn good. It hurts so wonderfully and all you can do is anticipate the next strike and hope they eventually decide to give you what you need. When you cum, they only intensify their efforts. You realize they intend to make you hurt much, much more than a single edging can manage. They could go on for ages. You don’t know whether you’re terrified or excited.  
Spiral-  
Ah yes. Welcome back. At first you think this must be a dream, it’s too close to your own fantasies, but then something *shifts*. Suddenly you’re in a different position being bound, or cradled, or stuffed, and the more you try to focus the less you can feel so you give up and flow with them, losing yourself over and over again in their soft/slippery/gripping/slimy/choking/painful/soothing/squirming/teasing/brutal/gentle grasp. You are not in control here. There is no here. Do you know where you are? You can try to answer, but a dozen variations of hungry, reaching tentacles fill your throat. They won’t stop. They won’t ever stop feeling and fucking and filling and binding and hurting and loving and using you. As you flash through encounter after encounter, tentacles vast and gentle and controlling and suffocating and vicious and ensnaring and strange and loving and clever and exhausting and hungry and coaxing and cruel, the lines begin to blur. You can feel yourself slipping away, smothered in pleasure and want. Soon, nothing in you will want to leave anymore. You’re going to give up entirely, and let them fuck you senseless for as long as you’ll last. Don’t worry, it will be a good while. The Spiral likes to take things slow, after all. Maybe you’ll even be grateful. All you want is to be well and truly fucked and, look at that, now you are.


End file.
